Equilibrium
by Designation Kik
Summary: The world is starting to see exactly the fate the Fire Nation condemned them to when they wiped the Air Nomads from the face of the earth and the Gaang struggles to bear the weight of the world. Know well: fate honors no heros and even heros make mistakes
1. Part 1: Water: Three years, twelve days

**A/N: **Hi all! This is my first story in quite a while, which hopefully will just mean that I've gotten a lot better. I **ADORE** constructive criticism so please don't hesitate to point out anything that maybe isn't clear or that I could do better. This story has been a pet project of mine for the better part of a year and I only just recently got enough free time to actually do it. I was inspired by my old biology and chemistry lessons about equilibrium. Equilibrium seems like a wonderful, peaceful, zen kind of word, but achieving it is actually a dynamic, sometimes even violent, process. It seems to me that the same would be true of finding balance between the four nations. So, without giving anything else away, on with the story!

Also, I don't own ATLA. Don't know who does exactly, but it is not me.

Part 1

::Scenes from the Lives that Should Have Been Perfect, But Weren't::

_We each have a purpose in this world: we have journeys to take, rolls to fulfill, and obligations to the great Balance that must be honored. There will always be those of us who are required to sacrifice more, maybe because of debt, ability, but never out of any sense of what may be fair. Such is the great injustice of life. _

_-Monk Gyatso, Southern Air Temple_

**Chp 1: Water - Three years, one week, five days after the War**

Who gives this woman to wed this man?

Hakoda did. Sokka could have. Hell, under extenuating circumstances, it could have been Pakku or Arnook or even Zuko. But Gran Gran wasn't allowed.

Katara had often thought in the past weeks that the Fire Nation had its own kind of sun. It seemed more dull and potent than it was at the poles where it cut through the air precisely like a well-cared for weapon. At home, it was warm during the day and cold at night, bright in the sunlight and dark in the shadows. There was always the strict separation. Here, in the never-ending desert, sunlight hit the ground and bounced. It spread, slinking out over the land with abandon, seeping into every crack and crevice. It was always hot in the Fire Nation, day or night, no matter the season. There was no shade; the light had a way of spreading out to touch everything equally.

There was nowhere to hide in the Fire Nation.

She was standing outside of herself. The ugly, penetrating sun left her exposed, practically naked to herself, to her prey, to the crowd, to Zuko, to Aang, and to that hidden presence that was not always seen, but still apparent in the corners of her mind. La was not always near, but Tui was a constant company. Katara didn't like what she saw. Her right eye was swelling shut steadily and her body was already starting darken into large patches of ugly-looking bruises. Her hair, normally a rich, chestnut brown, was ashy and listless, full of soot and smoke and singed in many places. Cuts and scrapes and burns made another pattern over the emerging bruises. Blood soaked the collar of her robes. She didn't feel it, though, not any of it. It was worth it. She could see that her body was slight and unimposing and that what made her fearsome enough to make her own breath catch was not the wall of razor-sharp shards of ice that she controlled, fanned out away from her back like some kind of porcupine-deer. It was the look in her eye. Even she could see that she was already dead. The man on his knees before her seemed to know as well, but for some reason, he continued to beg.

"_My duty, Mistress, I was only doing my duty! I was a simple soldier, I was following orders!" _His words slid around her or bounced back, the ice made it hard for them to find purchase, but one managed to cling. Mistress. It was a useless, Fire Nation honorific, one that inflamed her fury. Her name was Mistress when she held a blade to his throat, but it had been Water Tribe Whore when the blade was in his hand.

Who gives this woman to wed this man? The disaster started when Hakoda said, I do. She'd worn her mother's necklace, but it was replaced with another, one with a stunning blue stone that bore the image of the sacred koi locked in their eternal dance. It was his way of honoring her. The koi were graceful, beautiful, deadly, and worthy of respect, just like her. All of her closest friends were there, save one. He sent a note in his place: _I can't. _She'd stared at it for at least an hour, thinking numbly of the wasted paper. The ceremony was beautiful; Suki said so. She would be honored and respected as a wife; Toph guaranteed it. Her mother would be so proud; Sokka just knew. The Southern Water Tribe would flourish because of her; her father whispered the prophecy into her hair. Gran-Gran didn't say anything, just presented her with a beautiful hand-made parka and kissed both of her cheeks solemnly. The words of her best friend loomed so that she could hardly see past them. _I can't._

_I __**can't**__._

All she wanted was for Aang to _stop staring at her_. She could feel his gaze searing into her and was glad that she couldn't see him. He was seated on the northern side of the arena, in a covered set of seats emblazoned with the Flame of the Fire Lord. He was an honored guest, seated at Zuko's right hand. It was strange how three years could change a person. The face that had once seemed so clean and carefree now looked heavy and sad. The arrow that arched over the top of his head stood out starkly against his too pale skin. He was broader now. He wasn't a kid anymore. Her jaw clenched for a moment at that thought. Neither was she.

She didn't want him here.

She was oddly grateful, though, that Zuko would not look away. The crowd was fickle. They shrieked and turned away in fits and starts. They were alternately disgusted and amazed by her actions. Zuko, though, he was poised and steady and silent as ever. He watched without a flinch or a smirk, without any reaction at all. Really, Zuko had hardly said ten words to her in her weeks she had spent in his palace. She had heard him outside of her door, thundering commands at the healers, threatening them, beseeching them, but even at her worst, he was quiet in her presence. It was as if he were only a pair of eyes, bright, golden, and a voice. He had whispered a quiet _"rest"_ when she awoke, confused and lonesome. He had held her silently when she understood and the grief seemed bottomless and her silent punching bag when the grief fell away. He had nodded just once when she told him what she wanted and made the arrangements. And then, when Aang had come to her with words _("You don't have to do this, Katara. Not all Agni Kai's must end in death. Please, don't do this…")_, Zuko only watched. He had approached her beforehand, stared for one long moment, and then bent slightly at the waist, his fist against his palm.

He knew what she would do. They all knew. Aang wanted to pretend, but he knew too. Even the filth prostrated over her shoes knew. He just didn't want to believe.

Katara reached for his neck. She wanted to be able to hoist him over her head, to shake him around a bit, but she was small to begin with and her body was weak. Agni Kai's began only when the sun was at its zenith, when he was at his strongest and she at her weakest. She had to settle for grabbing him where he was most vulnerable and letting a sheath of ice slide over her fingers, increasing her strength. He couldn't hurt her now. His arms hung limp and useless at his side. He was beaten and he knew it. Katara watched herself lean close and whisper in his ear.

"Beg me the way I begged you. Beg me to stop. Beg me for your life."

_The way I begged for his._

It all would have been better if she hadn't been his to give away that day, if her father had no right to place her hand in a stranger's and bind them together, 'til death did they part. She would have never broken Aang's heart, never have betrayed a good man or lead him to his death. She would never have found love incarnate, only to have it snatched away by the Fire Nation scum before her.

She would never have seen her own heart broken, shattered, shredded in her chest.

"I beg of you, Mistress! I will give you anything!"

She couldn't heard him. Instead she heard Aang. He had come to her in judgment and ignorance of something he could _never_ understand.

"_You had a chance once to get revenge. Do you remember? You had the chance to kill your mother's murderer. You didn't do it, Katara. You knew what would happen if you gave in to that anger."_

"My loyalty until the day I die! Information! I'll tell you anything you want to know about the rebel forces! Anything, Mistress, for my life!"

She had stepped out of herself and into the room painted red. She had watched the death dance in her eye while she replied, the same way it flickered now.

"_Maybe I didn't love my mother enough to trade my soul for her honor. But, I loved my son, Aang. I loved him so, __**so**__ much more."_

"No."

She let the sweep of her hand turn her around so that she wouldn't have to see. She heard though. There was a sound identical to the sound her knife made as it sliced through seal meat, and a gurgle like a rabbit made when you killed it. She made her way to the arena's exit, numb to the uproar of the crowd. She could hear nothing from the Fire Lord's box. Instead she only felt blame and acceptance through two pairs of eyes that could see right through her.


	2. Part 1: Earth: Five Years Exactly

_Cadmos- Wow, thanks so much! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Unfortunately, I'll be keeping you in suspense on what exactly happened in the time we missed._

**Part One: Scenes from the Lives that Should Have Been Perfect, but Weren't**

**Chp 2: Earth – Five years to the day.**

"This is the stupidest thing you've ever made me do!"

The weak, raspy chuckle bounced around the room for a moment and sent a burst of too much information back to her. She had always been kind of freaked out by this whole deal sighted people have with closing their eyes. The closest she could relate it to was probably putting on shoes, or maybe taking a ride on a flying bison and honestly, if it were even remotely similar and other people had to do it all of the time, then she had no clue how they made it through the day. As long as she was grounded, Toph could _always_ see, and now that she had completed her training and fine-tuned her ears as much as her feet, she never really lost touch with her awareness of a room. Normally, it made her feel safe. Today, she just wanted to shut it all off.

It was the first sound he had made in days and it scared her. She wasn't stupid, she knew Bumi was an old man, she liked to remind him of it almost as often as she reminded him that she was blind. But she also knew that Bumi was _Bumi_. This feeble presence that weighed down the center of his bed reminded her of the leaves that fell from the trees and were too dry and brittle. It never moved, it never spoke or cackled or annoyed the crap out of her when she was trying to get something done. It was a stranger to her the way Bumi never had been.

Toph bowed her head, her pale fingers digging into the cushion of the couch, and scowled. "Fucking batshit old man…" she muttered. "What the fuck were you _thinking_?"

"That you're ready, Badgerling."

Toph growled and threw herself upright. "You're insane!" she screamed at him. "Completely crazy. You've finally absolutely, _completely_ lost your mind, Bumi!"

One of the two healers who flanked his bed fluttered nervously, while the other pulled at her robes and made little huffing noises. It was all they were really good for. "Lady Bei Fong," one of them said tentatively, "we must ask you to keep your voice down, lest you distress—"

"Oh, shut it! You're just as useless as the rest of these fucking—"

"Stop it, Toph." She bit her tongue to keep from unleashing her temper on him instead. With the way he had been acting, she was scared he wouldn't be able to withstand it.

"No, _you_ stop it!" she said through her teeth. Four steps around the couch and two more forward and she was at his bedside. The healers made cute little movements to convey that they were uncomfortable and Toph ignored them just like always. The comforter was twisted around her fists in an instant and she aimed her face at the center of the bed. She hated the stupid pile of fluff. She couldn't see him there. "Listen to me!" she ground out, yanking on the sheets slightly. "You. Are. _Not_. Dying!"

Bumi chuckled again and patted her wrist. Toph recoiled. _Damn it, he __**can't**__ be dying, _she raged internally. What kind of man could spend an entire night throwing boulders around in their favorite canyon, laughing, and taunting, and then the next day… He had been _fine_ and then all of the sudden to become this sick this fast… And what really pissed her off was the way everyone else was reacting! No one was asking the right questions or moving at the right speed. When she suggested— practically begged— the lead healer to contact Aang or Zuko and Katara or Sokka and see what they could do to help, the old woman had only held still for a long moment before she sent Toph away. The younger healers, who seemed to take their jobs as wall ornaments far more seriously than the task of finding a cure for their king, were definitely the most perplexing and infuriating, but the citizens of Omashu were almost as bad. Going out into the town was like invading a colony of zombies or something. They completed their daily business silently and with brusque efficiency, as if they were already in mourning, and would stop and stare at the palace at random intervals. Or else, they would stop and stare at _her._

"Still such an angry young woman… I'd thought I had eased more of your parents' influence away over these past five years," he wheezed. Toph made herself sit on the edge of the bed as far away from his slight body heat as possible while still being close. He didn't move to touch her again.

"You _are_ senile," she muttered, still too frustrated and bitter to let herself hear the message behind his words. "My parents were never angry. Or happy or itchy or horny or any other vaguely human emotion. They were more like little aristocratic simpletons than anything. They'd mastered condescending and dull when I left. I don't plan on finding out what else they've added."

"But you will one day. You'll go back to Gaoling with a fine division of your soldiers and show them the lovely woman you've become. And this time, you'll get the homecoming you were expecting when the war ended. Make sure to take the crown with you, though. That'll probably make a bit of a difference."

Without meaning to, she reached up to touch the metal circlet perched atop her head. Gold. Thin and dainty. She would probably dent it within a week. Her attendant had forced it onto her with the skill of any warrior. She had burst into Toph's room and declared loudly, "You must be prepared for the coronation." She then forced a stunned Toph into a bath and a vanity chair while a team of maids buffed, coiffed, painted, and plucked her to their satisfaction all before she'd managed to get the world back under her feet. They'd woven her hair through and around the damn thing so that she couldn't get it off without yanking half of her hair out.

The truth was she would probably be less furious with everyone else if she weren't so pissed off at herself. Some small part of her hadn't been surprised at the attendant's news. She should have seen this coming. She should have been trying to knock sense into him sooner. If she had just realized earlier, she _knew_ she could have made him see that… that…

_That what?_ She asked herself, bitter tears finally making their way down her cheeks._ That there was no need for him to find his replacement because if he just wanted it hard enough, if __**I**__ wanted it hard enough, he could live forever?_

The ripping feeling in her chest was unbearable. She twisted with a roar and buried her fist up to the wrist in his stone wall. The healers didn't make a sound this time. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "Why are you making me do this?"

He sighed, a sound that made her shudder, and reached up to brush fingers that were like thin, dry twigs against her cheeks. "Because Omashu isn't like the rest of the Earth Kingdom. Our city needs a leader, a strong one, in order to thrive. I led them through the war, but now there are other obstacles on the road to peace. The spirit world is restless, my dear. Things must be gone carefully, vigilantly, and I am not a young man anymore. You, Toph Bei Fong, are the last and greatest gift I can give to the city of Omashu. Once they have you, they won't need me anymore. And once they don't need me anymore, I'll be able to settle down for a nice, long rest."

Toph snarled as the pain in her chest flared at the very idea. "I won't take away your reason for living!" she snapped. "I didn't sign up for this, old man. All I ever wanted was a place to fucking stay!"

Bumi laughed again. "Of course you knew, Badgerling. You suspected ever since I sent you to train with the Dai Li, or when I asked you to start attending council meetings with me. You probably knew from the moment you came here, to me. Master Hou, the Earth Spirit, he speaks strongly in you, even if you may not yet know it." Toph bowed her head. There was nothing left for her to say, really. There was silence in the too big room for a long moment before he sighed again and began to brush his fingers through her hair. The gesture reminded her inexplicably of her mother. It was gentle and comforting like a parent's touch, but the fact was that Toph could not remember ever sharing such a moment with either of her parents. "You know, they'll teach you many things as you grow into the crown, Toph, but, from one king to a queen, just remember: it is okay to be afraid."

This was the last straw for Toph, the final strain on her already frayed nerves. She _hated_ his fluttery, shaky touch, the gasping quality of his voice, the fact that he was just going to leave her alone. She hated that through all of it, even though _he_ was the one who was sick and bedridden and _dying_, there was a quiet note of something in his words. _Pity_. The word made her feel hot deep in her stomach. She ripped away from his gentle touch, scrubbing at her face with the stupid robe with sleeves that were too long and got in her way. She hoped the tears stained the silk good, ruined it forever.

"I'm not _afraid_, I'm _angry_!" she shouted. "And you know what? I _am_ going to do this! I'm going to become the best god damned queen this fucking city has ever seen! And years from now, all anyone will know about you is that you were an idiot old man who was so lazy, that he pushed his responsibilities off on a seventeen-year-old girl!"

She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, startling the servant who had been lurking nervously outside of the door, trying to work up the courage to come get her. "Let's do this," she growled at him through her teeth.

She went through the coronation without hearing a word. She gathered that it was all some stupid, convoluted tradition or some other dumb shit like that. She shouldn't have been surprised to pick out both Katara and Aang in the shifting mass of bodies, tip-toeing around one another on opposite sides of the room. It was long and boring and surprisingly good at soothing her runaway temper. Once this was all over with, she would go back and apologize. It was something she couldn't even imagine doing with her parents, not in a million years, but Bumi wasn't like her parents. He was different and she needed to remember that. As soon as the other smaller and more intricate circlet, this one made of some sort of carved obsidian, had been placed on her head fitting snugly inside of the gold, and she was led from the room, she broke away from her escort, moving purposefully towards Bumi's quarters.

She felt her face get hot when she stepped into the hall that led to his door. One of the healers stood quietly outside of his door. She was probably out there guarding him from her smart mouth. Toph took a moment to swallow her pride. "Listen," she said earnestly, fidgeting with her fingers as she drew nearer, "I know that I was totally out of line before. It won't happen again." She stood expectantly, waiting for the older woman to step aside.

The woman stared, immobile. "My Lady, you cannot go in." Toph frowned, but kept her temper in check. No need to go off twice in one day.

"I just want to apologize to him, and then I'll let him rest or whatever," she said, becoming agitated. She'd been spoiled for five years around the palace, getting whatever she wanted when she wanted it. "I swear, I'm not gonna explode like I did before." The woman shifted, seeming to grow more uncomfortable by the second. This time, Toph, had to consciously remind herself not to get worked up. "Just let me in for a second," she said again.

"My Lady," the healer said slowly, "You cannot speak to King Bumi."

Toph was starting to feel a strange, cold, clawing feeling next to her heart. She lifted her chin. "Yea?" Her voice was tough, but she felt like her knees were rebelling. "And why not? Is he mad at me or something? Tell him to quit being such a baby!"

"The king is _gone_, My Lady. You are our queen now."

The world tilted under Toph's feet and she collapsed in a heap in front of the old king's door.


	3. Part 1: Fire: Three years, 142 days

Sorry about the long update time, guys, I just got back from the Miami Salsa Congress and was way too busy soaking up the sun and dancing with some amazing people from all over the world! So, here's a bit of Zutara to make amends :)

**Abumagi:** Hold on to your seat, it's about to get a lot crazier around here.

**Part One: Scenes from the Lives that Should Have Been Perfect, but Weren't**

**Chp 3: Fire – Three years, four months, three weeks, and a day**

"Do me a favor and remind me why I bother letting you out of my sight."

Zuko scowled and then hissed as the movement pulled at the fresh stiches in his eyebrow. The pretty young woman in front of him gave him a smug look, brushing his hands away deftly when he tried to reach up and yank a lock of her long brown hair in retribution. He fell into pouting instead.

It was good to have her home.

"It's just a training injury! Spirits, I'm _glad_ you're always off traipsing all over the world if you're just going to act like an overprotective mother hen-pig when you're— _ouch_! Katara!"

Katara continued to snip at the stiches in his eyebrow without pause. "Sorry about that, your highness. Maybe you should hold still," she said brightly, her blue eyes twinkling. Zuko went back to pouting. He noticed with annoyance that Katara seemed able to make much quicker, gentler work of removing them when he was quiet. In no time at all he was suppressing a sigh of relief as she pressed a cool orb of glowing water against the split in his brow. "There," she said and flung the used water back into the small fountain at the other side of the room with a flourish. His office was larger and more ornate than he would really prefer, but some things were just inevitable. He wasn't just a person anymore, as his uncle had told him, he was a figure for the public to see themselves in. That normally meant dealing with fancy rooms and uncomfortable robes and bowing servants with grace. He was grateful that behind closed doors, there were still people who would treat him like a nineteen-year-old guy who sometimes hurt himself while training. "You're free to break your head open again at your earliest convenience, my Lord," Katara said in a singsong kind of voice. She pulled her long legs up to sit Indian-style atop his desk and Zuko resisted the urge to push her over.

"Gee, thanks," he muttered, shoving his chair back from the desk so that he could see her properly. The room was dimly lit by a few lanterns in the corners and the weak moonlight that filtered in through the balcony windows, but it was bright enough for him to see that she looked good, better than he had expected. She was dressed in a rumpled, black travelling robe and soft black pants, her hair falling out of what must have started the day as a neat ponytail. She wasn't pale; she didn't seem any thinner than when she left. Still, her expression did seem a little pinched. With a frown, he stood and tugged the sash of her outer robe. "All right, your turn. Let's see it."

Katara rolled her eyes, but pulled the sash loose nonetheless. "Now who's being a mother hen-pig?" she grumbled. Zuko ignored her and watched her shrug off the robe to reveal a more form-fitting, low-cut undershirt. He had to make himself ignore the appealing swell of her chest and focus instead on the thick, ugly scar, about as long and wide as his finger, which swept from just under her collarbone on the left side of her chest diagonally towards her sternum. He stepped closer to probe the area gently, watching her face. It was clean and dry, free of pus or other signs of infection, and for that he was grateful, but Katara couldn't hide her slight wince. "It looks good, but it's aching again, isn't it?" he asked.

Katara blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I don't need you doting on me," she said, pointedly not meeting his gaze. Zuko sighed and moved away toward the fireplace on the opposite wall. _Always so stubborn…_ He lit a small fire and placed a kettle over the flames.

"How long have you been gone? Two weeks? I knew you forgot the hot water skin, but I kind of expected you to get a new one on the road," he said, pushing the logs around a bit to help the fire grow.

"I had other things to worry about."

"I'm sure. I bet you're paying for it now. Is it bad?"

"Zuko, I'm _fi—_"

"Katara."

He turned in time to see her rub the spot, the pain on her face less guarded. "Pretty bad," she muttered. Zuko nodded and moved back to stand in front of her, rubbing his hands together.

"The water will take a minute. Tell me if I get too hot." Katara nodded and held obediently still while Zuko let his inner flame flare and pressed his now heated hands against the scarred area. He ran his palms alongside the raised flesh, kneading gently, while Katara bit her lip and clutched the edge of the desk tightly. It wouldn't do any good to give her another lecture on taking care of herself, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he changed the subject, trying to get her mind off of the pain.

"How were the southern provinces?"

"Calmer," she answered tersely. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes while Zuko slowly increased the heat. "Captain Taizo will be pleased. Rebel forces there are losing support fast. A couple of towns have even forcibly expelled openly mutinous factions. It's not surprising, though, if you think about it. It's getting hard for them to convince farming families that war was better when they're finally getting market prices for their crops and their husbands, brothers, and sons are coming home." Zuko hummed in agreement.

"Any recruits?"

Katara sighed. "A brother and sister came forward. Mother died in rebel raids, father died in the war, same old story. They almost blew our cover they were so eager to get involved. It's a lot of trouble, making sure this whole thing can't come back to you and only barely has ties to me."

Zuko shrugged. "That's the price of permanent quarters in this place. Your public face has to keep a clean nose, no matter what you choose to do on your own time." The tension was slowly draining from her face and shoulders and Zuko let his fingers wander a bit, sliding up to trace the curve between her shoulder and neck or caressing along her collarbone. "Better?" he asked, his voice much quieter than before. Less casual.

"Yes, thank you," Katara sighed. She leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder, her face pressed against the nape of his neck. Zuko wrapped his arms around her carefully, kneading the knots in her back with his still heated hands. "I hate this stupid scar," she mumbled into the collar of his robes as her small hands came up to grip the front of his shirt. It wasn't a frenzied or passionate gesture. Instead, it was easy, matter-of-fact, and undeniably Katara. They stood this way sometimes, not often and never when others could see them, but enough times for him to know that it helped her somehow. It comforted her. "Does your scar ever hurt?"

Zuko shook his head. "No, not anymore. Mine is different than yours though. It's all on top of the skin." Katara hummed back at him and for a long moment, they stood in silence, Zuko playing with the ends of her hair. Suddenly, he tightened his grip on her. "I missed you while you were gone," he said quietly, not because there was anything to hide all alone in his office, but because he knew how easily his words could frighten her these days. "I worried about you. And here I find out I was right to keep myself worked up. Explain yourself." Katara snorted.

"Bite me, I was busy."

Zuko chuckled and they fell back into silence before he sighed again and twisted so that he could whisper into her hair. "Did you think about what we talked about before you left?" He was ready for her reaction and the way that the atmosphere around them would freeze and thicken. He held her more tightly as she tried to pull away. "Just answer the question, Katara," he said gently. She took a deep breath and seemed to burrow deeper into his embrace.

"I tried really hard not to, actually," she said in a small voice. Zuko smiled sadly. He had anticipated that. She was strong-willed and stubborn, amazingly so. It was rare that Katara didn't get her way. But he was stubborn too and he had the added advantage of not being scared out of his mind like she was.

"Kind of a stupid move, don't you think?" he said lightly. "Now you don't have a list of reasons ready to persuade me that I'm wrong." Katara flinched. It seemed like he was shrinking into herself faster and faster by the moment.

"You _are_ wrong," she said into his chest.

"Not very convincing, Katara." He kissed the top of her head and then shifted so that he could press his forehead against hers with one hand on her shoulder and the other resting against her knee. "I love you. You love me. I want you. You want me. This is how we can be together," he murmured. "Tell me how that's wrong." It was killing him, this begging, but he could never let her know that. She could never know the blows he took to his pride and to his heart having to beg her to let them be together. One day, maybe, he would share this pain with her, but the way things were, no matter how tough she seemed, he could see the cracks under the surface. She wouldn't be able to take it.

Katara kept her eyes resolutely closed, her hands fisting on the edge of the desk once more, but she betrayed herself by leaning forward into his touch. "You know that they'll never—"

"They have nothing to do with this," he said quickly, fiercely. "This is about you and me, no one else." He was sorry almost as soon as he said it. That haunted look was back, making her face look thinner and too weary.

"That isn't how life works, Zuko," she whispered and opened her eyes to look at him. It was always a knee-jerk reaction in him to do anything to wipe that look away. He slid the hand on her shoulder up to cup her neck and kissed both of her cheeks gently, hesitating over her lips before moving away. Katara shivered, but pulled away as well, her own hands coming up to cup his face. "You are the Fire Lord. The people will never accept some common Water Tribe peasant as their Fire Lady."

Zuko smiled wistfully. "You'd be surprised, actually. You said it yourself: the rebels are losing influence all over the kingdom. The people are starting to see the end of the war the way they should, as a miracle, a blessing. You who helped to end the war from the inside of the Fire Nation, who protected their Fire Lord, then and now, the daughter of the chief of the Southern Tribe, who defeated a firebender in honorable Agni Kai…" He shrugged. "They see more of the flame in you than you know. But all of that is beside the point. I'm not asking you to become a political figure. I'm asking you to become my girlfriend."

"Your _consort_." She made the word sound like a swear. Zuko wanted to shake her, but settled for pulling her a bit closer.

"My _partner_, Katara, in a way that would protect both of us from meddling and politics and tradition—"

Suddenly, there was a sharp rap on the office door, just as the kettle over the fire began to whistle. It was the typical ending to these kinds of conversations and Katara seized it readily, just like always. She hesitated and then pecked him lightly on the lips before she hopped down from her perch to get the water. Zuko sighed.

"Enter," he called, a bit brusquely.

The man who burst into the room completely erased what little sense of peace had remained of Katara's homecoming. He gave Zuko a hurried bow, then noticed Katara and hastened to execute another in her direction. "My Lord—ah, Master Katara, welcome home— Fire Lord Zuko, we have a situation of extreme potential ramifications. This note has just been delivered for you and…" he passed a scroll to him and then hesitated before extending another scroll towards Katara, "another for Master Katara along with a… a complication. Please, my Lord, the note surely explains, it must!" Zuko and Katara shared a look at the servant's clear agitation. Katara shrugged with a small smirk and unrolled her scroll. Zuko followed suit. It was probably an error in tea set shipments or someone had sent him some sort of tribute that the cleaning staff didn't want to deal with. He skimmed the first few words and did a double take, falling into his chair.

There were very few open ends left in Zuko's life now that the war was over and his father and sister were locked away. There was his mother, who was still lost, the fate of Fire Nation colonies on Earth Kingdom land, his relationship with Katara.

There was his runaway bride.

No one had seen Mai for more than two years and Zuko had stopped searching long ago. She had been his first choice, his council's first choice, in a consort and eventual Fire Lady. It didn't have much to do with his heart and everything to do with politics, but weeks before they were supposed to finish the paperwork, Mai walked out of the palace and didn't return. He had assumed that she had panicked, that she had balked at the idea of a marriage of convenience and the weight of a nation on her shoulders for the rest of her life. He had searched just enough to know that there had been no foul play, that she had left of her own free will, and then he had let her go.

He could never forget her handwriting though.

He was only half way through the scroll when there was the harsh sound of ripping paper and the pieces of Katara's letter was thrown into the fire. "Where?" she asked of the servant, her voice breathless and her expression absent. The man gave her a harried look.

"In the servants' quarters, we could think of nowhere else— Master Katara? Where are you— oof!"

Zuko elbowed past the poor man, hot on Katara's heels. They rushed to the southern end of the palace, the servant's side. Of course, she knew her way around the servants' quarters better than he did, and knew most of the servants themselves too. She could probably guess which room she was going to. She paused at a non-descript closed door, burst through, and then stopped dead just in the doorway. "Everyone out," she commanded in that same breathless tone. Zuko was at her back a moment later and supplied the stern look that got the three servants in the room to comply.

Only one little being was left behind. He lay stretched across a modest cot, wrapped tightly in some sort of black cloth and small, even for a one-year-old. He was sound asleep, one fat fist working itself free of its constraints. A surprisingly thick shock of black hair lay messily atop his head and Zuko knew that when he opened his eyes they would be vibrant gold.

His son.

Katara fell to her knees next to the bed, her trembling hands over her face. Zuko shut the door tightly and sat down behind her with his arms around her waist. He couldn't look at the baby boy asleep on the bed, so he hid his face in her neck, breathing deeply. It felt like the world was spinning too quickly, or maybe that it had been spinning along just fine and now it was stopped in its tracks.

"She said I was in her debt, in her _son's_ debt," Katara whispered through her fingers. "She called me a thief. She called me _Mistress_. Zuko, she _knew_."

Her words sent a bolt of something sharp and cold. Everyone had their own vices, their own shames. Zuko's mingled with Katara's in ways that were private, dirty secrets between two souls and the moonlight. But Mai had known.

"Yes."

Zuko raised his head from her neck where her travelling robes were stained and wet. "Yes what?" He didn't mean for his voice to crack.

"I'll be your consort." She reached out and drew one finger through the baby's thick locks. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel the pain in her voice. Unbidden, the word _atonement_ slipped through his mind. He closed his eyes against the sudden pain it caused. But Mai's words had brought the cracks closer to the surface. She was on the precipice and he had promised the day he took a bolt of lightning through the chest, _I will always protect you._

Slowly, Zuko let his hand ghost his way up her arm and clasp her hand. He kissed the back of her neck, her shoulders.

"I love you," he whispered. Katara squeezed his hand.

"I love you too."

It wasn't perfect, not at all. But he would take it.


	4. Part 1: Air: Five months, three weeks

So, now that I have everyone thoroughly confused, I guess I could scrounge up a few answers for you ;P.

**Part One: Scenes from the Lives that Should Have Been Perfect, but Weren't**

**Chp 4(pt. 1): Air – Five months, three weeks, three days**

Aang lay in bed, staring at the letter for hours after it arrived. He wasn't really reading it anymore; he had the note effectively memorized. Now, he was inspecting it. He'd seen Katara's handwriting only a handful of times over their time together and it had never struck him as exceptionally graceful or well-shaped or any of the other things he heard he should think when he was in love. He did notice that there was a tear in the page next to the word 'friend,' as if her quill had punched through the paper. There was a little wrinkled circle towards the bottom of the page and the words there were smudged. A dried tear.

He swung back and forth between anger and guilt as he catalogued every little imperfection on the page. Anger because as far he had known up until the letter came, Katara had been _his_ girlfriend. Yet, here it was: an invitation to her wedding. She hadn't even bothered to break up with him, in this letter or in any before it. It had probably just slipped him mind in all of the excitement, he thought, and was rewarded with a gut-twisting pang of guilt. Guilt, because he had _known_, or at least suspected, that this was coming. At the time, he had told himself that Hakoda's pointed questions about his intentions with his daughter were just the words of an overprotective father, that it had no real meaning, but deep down, he'd known better. Hakoda was arranging Katara's marriage and wanted to respect Aang if he wished to make a prior claim and Aang had just shoved the memory away and hoped that it was nothing when he _knew _differently and now he was sure Katara had been even more blindsided than he had…

_But, I'm only twelve years old!_ he raged internally. He didn't want to marry _anyone_, was that so horrible? He'd just finished ending a century long bid at worldwide genocide, was it wrong of him to want some of his childhood back? "Get married and have a family" were most definitely not on his list of post-war activities.

_And Katara's only fourteen… _another, smaller voice whispered back, and he felt bad again for even thinking of blaming her.

"This is crap," he mumbled to the empty room and, feeling particularly spiteful, crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it away. It had barely touched the ground before he swung out of bed and retrieved it, smoothing it flat once more. The idea of staring at the letter for a while longer was tempting, but Aang made himself place it carefully on the dresser and walk away. He needed some fresh air… the walls were too confining. He slipped silently out of his window and headed for the stables when Appa was staying. The name of this particular Earth Kingdom town blurred in with all of the rest of them in his mind. They needed his help and had offered him food and shelter and a place for Appa to stay the same as everywhere else. That was all that really mattered.

"Hey, buddy," he said as he slipped into the stable, "Mind some company?" Appa rumbled a greeting, shifted a bit, and promptly went back to snoring. If only he could be that comfortable… He settled down in Appa's fur quickly, comforted by the familiarity and the security.

It was funny. He had been so sure, once he'd read the letter, that it would be the beginning of a sleepless night, but suddenly, he was exhausted. He snuggled deeper into Appa's fur and tried to clear his mind. He needed a good night sleep and he would figure out what to do in the morning. Maybe he could dissuade Hakoda, or stall him, or talk to Katara…

Appa rumbled again and turned his face towards the wall to block out the bright, white-blue light that suddenly began to shine from the arrows of the young Avatar.

"_Hey! Hey, you!"_

_Aang mumbled and turned his face further into what he had thought was Appa's fur, but felt a lot like grass instead…_

"_Avatar Aang!" Aang sprung up with a start and almost crashed foreheads with a young girl who skipped backwards easily. She hooked her waist-length, stark white hair behind her ear and grinned at him. She lowered her voice, giving him a mischievous wink. "Wanna know a secret?" _

_Aang blinked and scratched his head, looking around. He was sitting on the ground in a forest packed densely with trees and a strange, hyper intense fog. He _couldn't_ tell if it was day or night. No sun shone down from above, but neither _could he_ see moonlight or stars in the patches of sky visible through the treetops. _Still, he could see the_ girl in front of him clearly, despite the lack of any apparent light source. She looked to be maybe eight or nine _years old with the awareness of someone_ much older. Her eyes were a strange, mother of p_earl color and her skin was smooth and white, although Aang felt as if he weren't _seeing colors quite properly at the moment. She wore what looked like an oversized shirt that fell midway _below her knees.

"What are you doing? You can't be old enough to be out here on your own," Aang said, clambering to his feet. The girl grabbed his_ hand and yanked him forward. Aang stumbled, unprepared for the girl's strength. _

"Come on!" she said, _her voice scaling upwards_ shrilly into a whine, and stamped he foot. "You're gonna make us miss it!" She let go of his hand and _scampered away, climbing bodily over_ the few fallen logs at the edge of the clearing. "Let's go, or you won't find out!"

"Hey, wait a second!" There was no way Aang was going to let a little kid get lost in… wherever they were. He darted after her, but quickly discovered that something was weird about this chase. There was no way some forest kid should be able to outrun him, but the farther they ran (strange that he couldn't quite get a grasp on whether they ran for a few minutes or hours), the farther behind he fell. Soon, he was only catching glimpses of her hair or her shirt as it whipped around another tree or over a large boulder. Every once in a while she would be waiting for him, leaning against a tree, or seated, cross-legged and content, with her hands in her lap. Every time she saw him, she would grin, wink, and sprint off again, calling back to him that they had to hurry.

Eventually, Aang began to notice a change in their surroundings. He could see snatches of strange, out of place sceneries through the trees. There was a beach, bright and warm, a meadow in the valley between mountains, a lava field, a smooth expanse of snow. He wanted to stop and examine these places more closely, but every time the idea occurred to him, the girl's voice prodded him forward insistently once more…

Suddenly, he cleared another stand of trees and skidded to a halt to keep from plowing into the little girl. She grinned at him and put a finger over her lips with one hand, pulling aside the branches of a wide bush with the other. Aang gave her a curious look, but crept forward despite himself to peer through the foliage. What he saw made him gasp.

The forest gave way to another clearing, this one larger and in the shape of a perfect circle. Four different landscapes converged in the clearing, each taking a quadrant of the circle. In the center of the circle, four figures stood with their backs to one another, each inspecting a strange, glowing shadow being. Aang turned his wide eyes on the little girl, who shrugged.

"Go ahead," she whispered, making little shooing motions toward the clearing. "You won't get in trouble. You're the Avatar."

For some reason, this was all it took to convince him. He slipped silently though the dense bush and stepped into the first new landscape. He wasn't sure why he didn't hesitate to take a step straight out onto what looked like an expanse of unbroken sea, a full moon shining in a starless sky overhead. As he drew closer, he recognized what he had thought was one, bulky person, but what actually two, a man and a woman, tangled tightly in each other's embrace. Beneath their feet, Aang caught glimpses of two sleek, graceful koi in perpetual motion. The man was a stranger, though something about his face was familiar and comforting to a deeply buried part of him. Aang recognized his features at any rate. He had the smooth, dark skin, water-blue eyes, and statuesque bearing of a Water Tribe man, though he was more handsome than any Aang had ever met. Held tightly to his side was a familiar face. Yue looked older by a few years, even though it had only been a matter of months since she became the moon spirit. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered, her white eyes waxing and waning from moment to moment. The two of them stared at the forms of two people made entirely of water that glowed a luminescent azure color. The figures rotated slowly and Aang recognized Sokka and Katara.

"Not the boy," Yue, or maybe he was supposed to call her Tui now, murmured as he approached, absorbed in whatever strange task was at hand. "He's sacrificed so much already… he did so much for me in my last life… spare him this burden, my love." La glanced down at his bride and then at the pair in front of them.

"As you wish, my Tui," he said and with a wave of his hand, the Sokka-shadow melted back into the water beneath them, leaving Katara alone. "The girl? She too has suffered much." Yue smiled sadly and reached out to stroke Katara's cheek with a fond familiarity that she could not have gained in life.

"It can't be helped, La. You know that. Someone must forge the way. It is all I can do to save Sokka. Still, she will prevail. She is a strong child, just like her mother… oh, hello Aang." She finally looked past Katara to lock eyes with him. Hers seemed apologetic. "Please, don't think me too callous. This is the way of the spirits…"

Aang didn't answer her plea for acceptance. Instead, his attention remained on the image of his girl— former girlfriend. "What are you doing to her?" he demanded

"Preparing her for greatness," Yue whispered.

"What does that mean?"

La wrapped his arms tighter around his wife, staring at Aang evenly. "See for yourself," he said, and casually, as if in greeting, lifted a hand. At his action, the sea on either side of Aang surged upwards to tower over the young Avatar's head. Panicked, Aang tried to shove the water back, but the movement of his arms had no effect whatsoever. The water crashed down upon him and he was dragged under the surface. Aang gasped and for one terrible moment waited to feel the water rush into his lungs, but it felt no different than if he had took a breath of air. He paddled nervously for a moment, twisting in place, before suddenly, Katara was there, not a shadow made of water, but solid and real. La's voice was there too, in his head. It was deeper and seemed to reach out into the air, touching everything that was. Katara's image thrummed in time with the words and as he spoke, Aang could see it all happening, as if he had known all along.

"Katara marries Umako, of the Northern Tribe, an influential council member and diligent son. Her marriage will heal what is broken between the North and South."

He saw the ceremony. Umako was a handsome young man, a few years older than Katara, with soft eyes and an easy smile. He touched Katara's hair like it was silk, kissed her forehead like it was glass, and fastened her new necklace for her so that the stone, carved carefully with the sacred koi, rested against her throat. Katara's face was blank. It was as if she weren't even there. On by one, her friends filed past her, whispering blessings and encouragement and through it all, Katara's expression was smooth and impenetrable, until one. Whatever Zuko said made her flinch and her eyes welled.

Katara's image in front of him was suddenly dressed in Water Tribe wedding gown, her face smooth, and bright, sapphire tears floating all around her. The tears floated freely for a moment and then began to gather.

"Like any good wife, she bears her husband a son."

He saw the baby son. He was vibrant and healthy in a fur-lined blanket, yanking insistently at his mother's hair only hours after birth. Katara clutched the baby and wept because she loved him, she adored him with all of her soul and by the simple act of existence, he had bound her, irrevocably to a man she could never have anything but respect for.

Before him, the tears increased and began to revolve around Katara, who was dressed in the robes of nobility.

"She is not as adept at deception."

He saw her writing letters by moonlight, in bits and pieces so that no one else would ever know. There were causeless voyages to the Fire Nation that began and ended in heat and violence and whispered declarations that could never be spoken too loudly. Katara laid her dark hand against Zuko's pale chest and wished that her son's complexion were somewhere in the middle.

"Umako finds the silver fire lily she wears on a chain around her neck and off they go on a trip to confront the Fire Lord."

She hadn't expected him to react that way. She hadn't expected the screaming, the cursing, the _rage_. He grabbed her just once and shook her, and she couldn't find the words in her foggy mind to tell him to stop, let alone answer his question. He raised his hand, as if he would strike her, but he froze, stalked away and upended a table instead.

The little glowing orbs were twisting around Katara, thicker and thicker with the tears Katara sheds over the years to come.

"A band of Fire Nation rebels intercept the travelling party. Everyone is killed, even her baby son is slaughtered. In return, she asks for just one life, the murderer of her only son, and it is delivered to her."

For a too long moment, all Aang could see was fire and blood.

The battle was awful.

The tears obstructed Katara from view, twisting in a veritable vortex around and around until suddenly, they exploded outward. Katara was gone.

Slowly, without his doing, Aang rose to the surface where Tui, La, and a new, different Katara awaited him. She was made of moonlight and water combined, taller, leaner, a young woman instead a young girl. She was naked, her hair loose and flowing down to cover her breasts and her face was tilted upwards, towards the moon with an expression that was blank, but not vacant. She was waiting.

"Why?" Aang croaked. His voice felt raw, as if he had been screaming. Yue gave him a sympathetic look.

"_Because tragedy will make her strong and without her strength, the world will perish," _Tui and La answered, their voices blended seamlessly into one proclamation, one that made Aang sweat with its power.

He couldn't take anymore. He turned his back on the water world and crossed into the next quadrant, a rocky canyon. La chuckled as he went and Tui raised her hand.

"Goodbye, Avatar Aang. With luck, we will meet again soon," she whispered.

* * *

><p>Notice that this is only part one. Aang has a few more secrets to learn before the night is over. I tried a weird kind of idea with the formatting, blending it from italics to normal as Aang's "dream" becomes more and more real to him. Let me know if you liked it or it confused the hell out of you and you hated it. Fun fact: all of part on was originally supposed to be one giant prologue... I gave up on that once it hit six thousand words and just kept going...<p>

Thanks for reading and see you soon!


	5. Part 1: Air: Five months, three weeks2

**Chp 4(pt. 2): Air – Five months, three weeks, three days**

Aang forced himself to stop moving as the sudden urge to flee that had welled up inside of him at the sight of the transformed Katara faded. He felt comforted in the next section, where a strong sun had baked the stone all day and heat radiated up through his bare feet. He was alone here. He could think, hopefully make sense of all of this insanity. He flexed his hands thoughtfully, clenching and unclenching his fists. He had only ever lost his bending in one place…

"Good day, Avatar…"

A tall, but thick man with short, black hair and pale skin stood at the point of the quadrant, his legs braced shoulder-width apart and his arms folded. His grey eyes regarded Aang with an easy familiarity as he grinned. Aang did not know him.

"I don't think we've met in this life. I am Hou."

Aang glanced around, taking in the sparse landscape and vibrant sun, and then looked back at the man. "You're the Earth Spirit," he said. Hou nodded and his smile widened. Aang knew very little about the Earth Spirit, the people of the Earth Kingdom didn't talk about him often. He started to drift forward curiously, but halted when he noticed the rough, granite statue at Hou's feet. It was a statue of Toph, seated with her legs folded underneath herself, though the expression on her face seemed closer to murderous than sedate. Aang frowned and drew away again.

"Why do you have that?" he demanded darkly. Hou just shrugged.

"She is mine to have."

"No, she isn't," Aang answered hotly. "She's a _person_; she doesn't belong to anyone. Are you messing with her future like they did with Katara's?" he demanded, gesturing to the backs of Tui and La who, if heard him talking about them, did not give any indication. Hou's only reaction was to give him a bemused smile, as if Aang were nothing but an insolent child.

"A hundred years is a long time on the other side, eh, Avatar? There was a time when you would have known well that she _especially_ belongs to me. She was born to belong to me." As he spoke, he ran his fingers through Toph's hair and somehow slipped easily through the strands. "She held strong against the first tremors, but against the real upheaval…" He trailed off, shaking his head. He seemed in awe of the image of the little blind girl before him. "She will _flourish_." Aang was torn, caught between the urge to run from that look of adoration and the need to understand.

"Why are you telling me this? Why have I been summoned to the spirit world?" he demanded in a voice that was much stronger than he felt. Hou did not even look up. With an absent movement of his foot, the earth under Aang's feet shifted, sliding him closer. Hou snatched hold of his wrist, all the while, his gaze riveted to Toph's form. "You are here to witness," he said, pressing Aang's hand against Toph's head. "So, witness."

As soon as his hand came in contact with it, the stone surged over his hand and up his arm. He tried to pull away, but Hou's grip and the casing of stone held him firmly. Hou chuckled in his mind. "Don't insult me, Avatar," he laughed.

At first, there was only darkness as the marble coated his eyes, but after a moment, Aang began to see through the darkness into a tableau that was absurd and heart-breaking in its own way. Toph could be quite lovely and graceful when she wanted. She sat with her legs folded underneath her and her back straight. She had allowed someone to comb and style her hair and swath her in some length of expensive fabric, paint her face. Her sleeves fell forward to cover her hands and her robe was long enough to cover her bare feet. She was surrounded by people, all much older than her and dressed richly, to whom she murmured quietly, demurely.

None of them looked her way. They made gestures toward her and comments about her, but no one actually looked at her or spoke to her. Aang could see her fists clenching and unclenching under the table. A moment passed and the horde of guests was gone, replaced by one man and one woman. The Bei Fongs sat across from their daughter and stared at her. Toph tried to speak. _It's like talking to a wall,_ she would tell him later, but it wasn't like that, not really. It was more like speaking to a judge, one who already knew you were guilty. The Bei Fongs stared at their daughter until, in anger, Toph drew away, her limbs stiff with what Aang knew was restrained violence.

"My poor Badger-Mole," Hou murmured in Aang's mind, his tone colored by a strange mixture of compassion and pride. "As enduring as a mountain range… they will try to change her. She will try to change herself. And all will fail."

He started as he saw himself, taller, broader, and with more lines on his face. He flew Toph to Omashu of all places, took her to Bumi and left her there. Something between the two of them confused Aang, something that was slight, but ever-present. They looked at each other as if they saw something more than an old man and a little blind girl. Bumi would send Toph away for days and then weeks and then months at a time and each time, she would go willingly, complete her task diligently, and return to Omashu promptly. As time passed, she changed. She grew tall and slender, but kept her hair cropped short. She acquired a set of stone gloves, but kept robes in Gaoling's colors. She was growing vibrant, the way she should have a long time ago.

"The King will show her the way, but let her walk where she chooses. And when she goes far enough, he will leave her to walk alone."

The funeral was solemn and huge; the entire city of Omashu, the White Lotus, people who just were drawn by his legacy crowded into the temple and the streets outside, waiting for the chance to shuffle past the body and pay their respects. Toph didn't go. Instead, she sat alone, curled up tightly in the seat of a throne that was big enough for two of her to sit comfortably.

"And after her first stumbles, she will walk, then run, and then she will _fly_…"

Aang opened his eyes and ripped his hand away from Hou's grasp. Rock cracked and crumbled from his skin and fell to the ground around him. Hou seemed completely uninterested in him. He had eyes only for the polished marble statue that had taken the place of the rough granite. This Toph was older, composed, with just a hint of a cocky smile on the corners of her lips. She lounged sideways in an austere throne with her legs draped over the side and her fingers laced over her stomach, staring sightlessly forward, waiting.

Aang stumbled backwards a few paces, taking in Toph's image. "I don't understand," he said. "Katara's life—"

"Does not belong to me," Hou answered briskly. "She's the Moonlight's child."

Aang shook his head. "So what?" he demanded. "If you're preparing them both for some kind of…" his forehead wrinkled in frustration, "_something _that they have to do in the future, why do you have to _break_ Katara and not Toph?" He expected Hou to be offended by the insinuation. Toph certainly would have been. But Hou remained unruffled.

"Toph is not called to pay in blood. I need a regent. A strong one." He turned to offer the Avatar a grin, "Really, Aang, poor Agni is a debtor offering flesh and blood as reparation, Tui and La willingly fold themselves into stepping stools so that our dear Hava may demand and receive souls, any souls, in as large a quantity as she can get her hands on…" he trailed off for a moment, a smile to match Toph's shadowing his face. "There is a very old saying among my children, Avatar. They say that it doesn't matter how loudly the wind shrieks." Hou twisted his leg sharply at the hip and then slid his toe away from himself. The ground underneath Aang responded instantly by turning him and propelling him toward the edge of the quadrant. "The mountain _cannot_ bow to it."

Aang wanted to walk straight back up to him and demand more answers instead of riddles, but Hou fluttered his hand dismissively. "Good day, Avatar Aang. Until we meet again…"

Reluctantly, Aang bowed at the waist and took one step backward into the next quadrant. There was no longer a doubt in his mind. He was in the Spirit World, deeper into the very center of things than he had ever gone before. He thought of leaving the clearing and its wealth of tragedy, behind, but something in his heart rebelled against the very idea. He sighed as he glanced around the lake of fire that danced under his feet, mirroring Tui and La's plane exactly. _I guess the only way out is in,_ he mused and went searching for Agni.

"Keep moving, Avatar." The voice that came out of the flames was soft and deep, though not too deep to be femenine. Agni eased out of the flames languidly, letting his fingers linger in the bright tongues of flame. Though generally worshiped as a God by those in the Fire Nation, the Fire Spirit had a thin, androgynous form that faded in and out of solidity as Aang watched him. He had long black hair, done up into a top-knot, and pale skin, despite his surroundings. His pale gold eyes watched Aang without interest. "I've no show for you here." Aang frowned.

"Why not?" he asked suspiciously. Agni just snorted.

"I do not have to explain myself to you." Aang's frown deepened even further. He tried to lean around Agni's form to see more clearly the shadow that was concealed by the flames, but suddenly Agni was there, blocking his view with a snarl.

"I said," he said, his voice deadly soft, "keep moving."

Aang backed away hurriedly with his hands held before him. "Okay, okay," he mumbled as he went. Agni watched him go with a steely gaze. Aang turned to cross over the final threshold, but suddenly, a fierce anger welled up in his chest, halting him in his tracks. "You know what? No. It isn't okay," he said. "It isn't okay at all." He could feel his hands trembling. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but it seemed only to fuel the rage inside of him.

"Why am I here?" He got no answer. Aang took another breath and kept his eyes closed, desperately holding himself still. Behind his eyelids, he could see Katara weeping, Toph gasping with her head between her knees. He imagined Zuko trapped behind Agni's wall of fire. "What's the point of all of this?" he shouted, flinging his eyes open. The lake of fire, the other quadrants, everything was gone. Aang stood, fists clenched, in a lonely field, grass tickling his calves. He stared at the empty, nighttime sky, the wide, flat plain, the waves of grass undulating calmly in the breeze. He was not swayed by the illusion of solitude. The power of the four elements sat heavily in the air so that he could practically taste it on the back of his tongue.

"You sound mad." Aang whirled at the voice, but it was only the girl who had led him into the clearing earlier, twisting the hem of her sleeve and watching him with apprehension. Another child, this one a boy maybe a few years older with the same white hair and eyes, lounged in the grass at her feet, watching Aang curiously. "Are you mad at me? For bringing you?" the girl asked. At this, the boy sat up, eyes narrow. Aang rubbed his face and forced his anger away. He was about to answer, when another, more musical voice answered, her voice like wind through the trees.

"No, precious girl. He is upset, but not with you." Between one blink and the next, she appeared, her arms wrapped around the young girl. She was solemn and barefoot, clothed in flowing yellow robes and adorned with arrows that glowed softly against her pale skin. Her long, black hair flowed freely to her hips and the little girl reached out to play with the ends. "He faces a hard burden, harder still than he has already born. Knowledge can be its own curse." As she spoke, she trailed her fingers through the girl's white locks, her movements careful and adoring. "Come now, little raptor, be calm," she said to the boy, who glanced down at his clenched fists as if he had never seen them before. "She is not in any danger." Aang felt as if he could fall to his knees. The Wind Spirit smiled at him.

"I have appreciated your tributes these past few months, Aang. My temples have stood quiet for far too long. I have been lonely." She extended one willowy arm to him, hand open, inviting. "Come and see the future we will make possible together." Aang didn't hesitate. He couldn't. Tui, La, Agni, Hou, he honored them as three of the four great spirits, but Hava, the Wind Spirit, was different. She was _his_ spirit, the spirit of his ancestors, of his mother and father, of Monk Gyatso. He grasped her hand with both of his. As soon as he felt her cool touch, a whirlwind kicked up around them, obscuring the field from view. Aang closed his eyes and let himself fall.

At first, there was nothing to see around him but darkness, but then, just as suddenly as Hava had appeared in the field, there was a cup. It was about as large as his forearm, with a long, elegant stem that flowed outward into a round bowl. There were no jewels affixed to its alabaster surface. Instead, the bowl was inscribed with a pattern of lines that streamed seamlessly into and through one another. Aang picked up the chalice and held it. It felt too light in his hands, incredibly fragile. Inside, an unknown liquid lay tranquil, something so blue and powerful, it reminded him of holding lightening in his hands.

Suddenly, the level of the liquid began to rise. It quickly overcame the edges of the chalice and fell over the sides, first in trickles, then in rivulets, then streams, until Aang felt as if he were holding up a waterfall. The liquid spread out quickly, coating the ground. After a few moments, shapes began to emerge from the glow. In moments, Aang was surrounded by men, women, and children, all beaming at him, all marked with the same arrows on their foreheads, hands, and feet.

"If all that has been foretold here tonight comes to pass, I will return balance to the world," Hava murmured into his mind. Aang's own tears fell into the chalice, mixed with the liquid there, and fell into the stream as well, forgotten.

"You'll bring back the airbenders," he whispered, seeing in his mind the Air Temples, vibrant again, the way they were meant to be. He saw weddings and births and _life_. He felt breathless.

And just the way it came, everything was gone. The liquid suddenly ran a deep, dirty red and the airbenders all around him fell down, dead. Horrified, Aang tried to draw back, but he was compelled to look closer, to see. It didn't take long for him to realize that this body bore a topknot, that one wore the Earth Kingdom's colors, that one had a betrothal necklace like Katara's. These were no longer just airbenders. In his mind, he could see the carnage, the bodies, the grief that spread like a plague until it consumed the entire world.

"And if, through your action, they stray from their paths," Hava said in a voice that was terrifyingly dead, "then I will return balance to the world."

Aang blinked _and found him_self staring into Ha_va's_ solemn gaze. Behind her, _the two children stood_ watching, the boy holding the girl's wrist. _Aang scrubbed at his eyes and his sleeve came back wet. "Why?" he rasp_ed. His throat felt raw _with suppressed cries. "Wh_y us? Why now? We s_aved the world once already. _We've already sacrificed_. Why this too?"_

_Hava shook her head and touched Aang's cheek.. "Because it is so," she said gently. She pulled_ away and _Aang's body began to lift away, straight up into the_ air. He felt as_ if he were pushing through waves, through granite, through flames, until finally he broke through in_to warm, sweet-smelling air.

"_Goodbye, Avatar Aang," Hava whispered as he fell upward into the sky. "We'll see each other again soon. One way or another."_

When Aang awoke, he didn't cry, though his heart felt raw as if he had already shed too many tears. He climbed down out of Appa's fur and hugged the beast's giant nose for a long time. Then, he went back to his room, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote two words. He sent the letter with a messenger hawk to the South Pole.

_I can't._


End file.
